Anybody Listening?
by The Scribe of Time
Summary: She struggles with everyday situations that everyone eventually lives, but stakes rise when she realizes how her differences may cost the girl her life. Inspired by the Holocaust.


_It was dark.. oh so dark. She could hear a sound in the background.. a steady 'thump thump' that seemed muffled by something._ _There was something else too... something from a distance... footsteps? Yes, footsteps, but they were running. Hasty footsteps. What were they running from? The thumps got louder, and the girl could feel something hitting her chest... Her heartbeat was picking up rapidly. She was running too, running from whatever they were all running from. What was it? Should she open her eyes? Did she dare see what monster was following them? Screams started to echo in the crowd, and the various children's cry for their mother was heard every now and then. She could picture her own brothers standing there, in the middle of the path, crying for mommy... _

_The girl's eyes flew open. Before her was a crowd of people of different race, ethnic, religion... Nearly everyone on her block actually. Yes, there was Ms. Hodges, the elderly lady with the cats... And over_ _there, wasn't that Chris, the school jock? His face was twisted in horror and fear, similar to the one of Ms. Hodges. But what was there to be afraid of?_

_The girl stopped her sprinting and looked around, her black curly hair swinging around to the other side of her face. A tall man ran into her, muttered an apology and kept running. He was dressed in a tuxedo, with a briefcase in hand, but he had no shoes. She didn't recognize him, so she turned back toward the stream of people running away. She could see nothing in the distance; the people must have been running because somebody else was running. They were all like lemmings; if one of them jumped off a cliff, they all would. Despite the girls natural displeasure to the average human's IQ, she was still concerned with the amount of people running, and the horror on their faces. Yes, it was definitely horror, not confusion. _It's as if I've seen this before..._ she thought. _

_A sudden urge to fight the flow of people took over her, and the girl surged against the crowd. She dodged in and out through the bodies, bumping into the occasional panic-stricken fellow now and then. She wasted no time in apologizing, for curiosity and desperation made her run forward into the rush. _What is this?

_A feeling of dizziness took over her, and her vision started to fade in and out. The cobblestone path she was running on blurred together, and the old buildings towering on the sides of the street seemed to sway. Screams started to get louder, and the girl clutched her head to stop the madness. Shaking her head, she pressed on, desperate_ _to see what was chasing all these people... Then her vision faded to black, and she was gone. _

Crystal woke up 30 minutes before the alarm clock went off. She groaned, massaging her head. What was that? What was chasing all those people? She shook her head and buried deeper under the blanket. It was odd that she would remember that dream, of all dreams. Perhaps it was the terror on the people's faces that left a permanent tattoo in her memory. Yes, that must have been it...

She curled up into a ball, trying to capture the warmth of her blanket before emerging into the cold winter air. Digging her face into her knees, she thought about the day forming in her mind. She would go to school, get yelled at by teachers, get yelled at by friends, and then yelled at again by teachers. Finally she would go home, only to be yelled at by her foster-parents, and barked at by the dog. It seemed like everybody hated her right now; friends, family, and teachers - heck, even homeless men on the streets glared at her. She didn't think she was _that _different compared to others. Was it her skin tone? Her hair? Crystal was born African-American, so she inherited her mothers ivory skin and dark brown curly locks. Well, that's what her supposed-father always told her, and it's what the black and white picture looks like.

She turned her head up to look over at the faded picture on her wall. A young couple stared back at her, smiles on their dark faces. They both had black hair, but the man had a pair of sunglasses on his head. The picture made it seem like they both had dark brown eyes too, but it was fading from age and sunlight. They seemed so happy within the small 8 by 16 inch picture, laughing like they did before Crystal was born. It seemed strange to look at her birth parents, and the dream was tossed out of her head as her thoughts wandered toward the two people she knew for only a short amount of her life.

She was fourteen going on fifteen in only seven days, but her birthday was only remembered by Crystal herself. Her adopted-parents didn't care much about birthdays; perhaps because they had enough children to worry about (spare the foster kids). Crystal felt misplaced among all the pasty-white faces of the Britain children. Why did they adopt her? Why not the other child at the orphanage, the white one that slept on the bunk bed above her?

It seemed like she was adopted only yesterday, which is really quite a burden when you're feeling sad and the haunting memory comes and makes you just that much sadder. She remembered the faces of the other races, looking at her enviously. The white children looked so jealous, that it turned into a look of pure spite. Mr. and Mrs. Hammond came late morning, faces apathetic. They glanced around the orphanage, pale blue eyes falling on Crystal, and declared loudly that they wanted to adopt "that black girl over there", with a lazy gesture in Crystal's direction. The papers were filled, and in just three days Crystal was sleeping on a carpet floor of the not-much-better-place.

The not-much-better-place is what Crystal called it, for it was a place that had only one plus side; they didn't feed her porridge every day. The not-much-better-place was located on a side street in Great Britain, hidden with all the barber shops and scam stores. If Crystal was quiet, she could sneak out of her room, tiptoe up the stairs, down the hall and exit through the supposed-to-be-locked metal door and into the alleyway.

Crystal liked to sneak out at night. She liked to break away from the flat carpet and thin blanket she slept with. She took joy in acting rebellious against her foster-parents prison, to taste that sample of freedom before they noticed she was gone. Crystal was never caught, so she didn't know what they would do if she was. If she would ever be caught, it would be by the cops patrolling the city, wandering around to make sure that terrorists and loiterers stayed out of their "wonderful country." She hated what they made Britain sound like; a happy, cheerful, always-entertaining, not-a-sight-of-malice city. But it wasn't, for Crystal saw the shadows in the windows of abuse, torture, gluttony, lies. At night, she saw it all. She knew the windows of neighbours like the back of her hand. She heard the screams of children and the shrieks of woman, the cries and pleas of forgiveness and mercy. And she breathed it all; she was forced to.

The alarm clocks sharp chirps brought her out of the thought. She shook her head, trying to clear the glaze that fell over her eyes with the memories. Tonight she would sneak out again; she would just have to wait.

Crystal threw back the blanket (that could be warm when it wanted to,) and sat up on her knees. The other children around her were stirring, and it would be all too soon that they started up their yells of laziness to ask each other to "turn off that infuriating alarm clock." Every morning was like the last, and by the eighth year of living in this household Crystal had it all memorized.

There was at least 16 children living in the house, and only 2 of those children seemed to like Crystal in the least. The girls slept in the basement, while the boys slept in a large spare room on the third floor. Twelve of the sixteen children were adopted, and four of them were actual children from the Hammonds. Good news for Crystal is that the only two children that liked her were original Hammonds. Bad news is that those children were two three-year-old twins, whose minds weren't poisoned by the racist parents she lived with.

Crystal's nose twitched, as it did every time she thought of her misfortunes. With a sigh, she rubbed her thighs to wake them up and willed herself to stand up. She stretched her arms back, feeling her joints crack into motion. A shiver trickled up her spine at the winter chill that invaded her warmth. Why was it so cold down here? Crystal shook her head to clear the haze of thoughts, black curls bumping against her face softly. As quietly as she could, she stepped over the half-asleep bodies and exited the room quickly.

She climbed the stone staircase two at a time, fuelling the odd burst of morning energy to her advantage. The chills increased as she got closer to the top, feet numb from slapping against the cold slate, her arms swinging in front of her to pace the leverage. Upon reaching the top, she puffed a breath of satisfaction before continuing down the brick-hallways and up another flight of stairs, this time taking more precaution and carefulness then the previous set. The stairs creaked under her weight, and she flinched at the future abuse she might receive for awakening the other children. She slumped up the rest of the way up the stairs.

The smell of bacon greeted her at the top of the stairs, and Crystal's mood brightened slightly. There was nothing like a hot meal on the cold winter days, and this day was a definite cold one. Crystal shivered at the thought of walking to another long day at school, where she would come home miffed like the day before that, and the day before that.

"How did you sleep." asked Mrs. Hammond from her stove. She was shaking the frying pan back and forth over the fancy technological oven, barely caring to acknowledge who she was talking to. She probably didn't even know.

"Fine." replied Crystal, not wanting to go into detail about the strange dream she had. That's right... the dream. Her thoughts wandered to the streets of Dream-Britain, and how they were filled with screaming pedestrians. She remembered how she ran against the crowd, trying to see what it was people were running from and tripping… no, she fell. Or- err…

"Something wrong?" droned the apathetic tone at the stove.

"No, everything's fine. I just had this really weird dream, that's all." Crystal replied politely. Sooner or later a different child would come up the stairs and the same conversation would be said again. Just like every other morning.

"Bacon's ready and there's eggs on the table too." Mrs. Hammond cut the conversation short by taking the frying pan off the element, and draining the grease into the steel sink. She dumped the fried meat on a plate, and put it on the table, which was set with fourteen different plates, forks, knives, cups, and two high chairs. Crystal walked over from the doorway and toward the second last chair; her chair. She pulled it out slowly, not wanting to scrap wood against wood too loudly, and sat down quietly. From upstairs she heard a thump, followed by more thumps all strung after each other. The race to the bathroom has begun.

Trying not to be bothered by the noise upstairs, she stretched toward the bowl of scrambled eggs and pulled it toward her. She dished out a reasonable amount on her plate, and pushed the bowl back to the middle of the table. Crystal enjoyed the quietude of life, and she rarely took pleasure in screaming or running around, or being rambunctious like most children are. Grabbing a strip of bacon from the plate, she chewed on the burnt meat in thought, thinking of possibilities that school won't be that bad.

By the end of the day, school was indeed 'that bad'. She didn't finish an assignment she had no idea about, and was forced to spend her valuable lunch hour in the dungeon. Her one best friend was sick, and the other fakes ditched her when Chris did his usual rounds and insulted her choice of clothing. It wasn't Crystal's fault that all she received were 1800 hand-me-downs, it was the Hammond's. After fifth period, she had enough and left before suffering another class with another Caucasian teacher.

Sitting on the rooftops of afternoon-Britain triggered something in Crystal's memory. That's right, the dream. She twisted her face in disgust. Why is this dream so prodding? It seems like whenever she's at peace, this memory keeps coming up to the front of her mind. Was it a warning? Perhaps she was having visions of the future-Britain –

_No_, she thought angrily, mentally slapping herself. _You're not going to turn into another mindless ditz wandering the halls because of some 'visions'. _What a load of bull shit that was. Either or, Crystal decided then and there that she wasn't going to sneak out that night. That could wait for another day, sometime after the dream fades completely. Her curiosity was much stronger then her desire for relaxation.

Crystal slid down off the tiles of the roof, stepped on the old metal ladder and descended onto the grate-like balcony below. Pushing up the bathroom window, she worked her way into the small, soft-green room. As soon as she was inside, she removed her shoes and wiped away the excess gravel and rocks that followed her inside, immediately closing the window after that. She clapped the two un-named runners together in the bathtub, knocking off any other dirt before she went walking through the house.

She opened the wooden door cautiously, looked up and down the hall to check if the coast was clear. Fortunately, no one seemed to be home early. Crystal walked down the staircases slowly, flinching at every creak the floorboards made. Even if it seemed like no one was home, that didn't stop the patrol-vans from picking up any audible noise from the house. Why Britain had such high-security, Crystal didn't know.

The rest of the day went by quickly. Crystal retreated to her bed in the basement as soon as she heard the key fumble in the lock, and continued to read alone until sunlight ceased to shine through the dim window. By that time, exhaustion took over and lack of food got the better of her and Crystal went to sleep hungry. That night, she dreamed again.

_What... What is this? She touched her face, pulling away something cold and sticky. Screams continued to ring around the streets, and a few car alarms could be heard from down the road. Crystal found herself in some sort of water. Pushing herself up, she opened her eyes to a puddle of dark greyish liquid spilling from a pipe sticking out of a car. Crystal stood up in a hurry, and realized she was drenched in the foul smelling substance. She ran toward the sidewalk, splashing through the gasoline that was slowly diminishing through the drain. Crystal tried to squeeze the liquid from her shirt, and from the flimsy night-shorts she wore to bed. People tried to push by her, and she was forced into an alleyway where rotting flesh was inevitable. Bodies flooded the dumpster, spilling out on the sides where blood slowly dripped down to the pavement. Crystal felt stomach bile twist in her intestines and a sensation of throwing up overcame her. Thank goodness she didn't eat anything..._

_Swallowing hard, she turned back towards the streets. It seemed quieter than before, the screams more distant, the cars shrill alarms dying in the noise. A thump... thump... thump... It shook the ground, causing vibrations in the pools of blood and water. Crystal walked out from her alleyway slowly, afraid to see what was coming. Peering out, she realized she wasn't anywhere near home anymore._

_The sky was a deep, pitting colour of black with red swirls snaking their way through the darkness. The ground seemed to move, but as Crystal tapped the brick path with her foot she realized it was just as stable as before. The pounding became deeper, even though she couldn't see anything from where she stood. No people, no monster, no cars, and strangest of all, no garbage flying through the twisted Britain streets. There was a feeling of nothing flooding the evil alternate dimension of England._

_Crystal tapped the wavy ground again then applied more pressure. There was nothing unusual about the stability of the earth, just the looks, and looks can be deceiving. A gust of hot wind blew against the girl, stinging her eyes and pulling back her curly mess of black hair. It felt like fire against her exposed skin, and Crystal could have sworn she was getting burnt by it. The winds grew, and Crystal turned around and took cover in her stable alleyway again. Despite the decay, it almost felt comforting. Then she saw them._

_The first was the most insane. Crystal rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn't seeing things. She wasn't. _

_A giant pair of hammers stomped their way through the street, followed by another pair, and another after that. They all moved systematically, all in synchronization down the twisted pathway. With every step landed, Crystal had to grab the edge of a dumpster to stop herself from falling to the ground. The hammers had solid grey heads, with a red handle complimenting section of black in the middle. They left holes and dents in the road, which cracked a bit of a ways away before stopping abruptly. A spurt of fire snaked its way up through the hole and licked its way around the hammer before dying off. Something about it all seemed... intriguing._

_However, it couldn't have lasted all that long. Crystals vision faded once more, blurring out the twisted streets before disappearing altogether._

Perhaps it was the time of morning, or the screams of the other children, or the two men standing in the doorway with rifles aimed. Whatever it was, Crystal felt scared. It seemed too familiar to her dream, too familiar to the hammers and the stench of death and fire and gasoline all mixed. The body of the large golden lab lay on the carpet. The two men screamed at it, then proclaimed in English that it barked too much before shooting it. Then they grabbed her, threw a bag over her head and dragged her away from the not-much-better-place; her home. Despite its faults, fakes, and lies, Crystal would still call it her home. She was dragged away, and tossed into the back of a van. Of all racist things to happen, this must've been the worst.

The van started up, and Crystal was taken away from her family. Visions of the hammers walking through the streets came over her thoughts, closely followed by the images of the men pounding helpless, 'different' kids with those hammers. Other bodies joined her, all thrown in as harshly as she was. Some of them screamed in different language, and some of them were motionless as death itself. All too soon, whimpers filled the van and a voice from the front barked some sort of command.

Crystal just sat silently, fumes of gasoline, blood, and death filling her senses, with the hammers crashing against her mind in waves.


End file.
